Faith in Winter
by SeeMeAlice
Summary: The winter has been long, cold and harsh. Life is difficult in a fledgling town on the edge of wilderness. Father Edward cares for his little town of Forks, but there has always been something missing. Will he figure out what it is? Somewhat OOC, all human, cannon. Warning: Multiple character deaths. Non-graphic/violent.
1. Chapter 1

Fierce, the wind outside howled as it rushed past the eves, hauling a heavy burden of wet snow. The winter had been long already, and a hard one. Even so, it wasn't nearly over. Months still stretched until the time when the warm sun of spring would show again, melting the thick blanket of frozen white away to bring forth a green reborn world.

Thin tendrils of smoke drifted heavenward from the line of candles arranged on the altar. The town's only Father kneeled before them, head tilted. His face was passive, his green eyes contemplative as ever. He had spent most of his more than fifty years dwelling within hallowed walls, tending to the souls of the tiny newborn town of Forks. He was glad for the communion with the divine, for the many moments when he felt and saw the Holy Spirit flow through the congregation. For the hundreds of times he'd poured blessed water to welcome new souls into the fold and even for the times he'd spoken ancient words as members of his flock left this mortal life. His God was powerful, and he felt His love in a lifetime of dedication. This love and faith had kept him strong in the path of righteousness.

Yet somewhere, in some dark recess of his heart, he was never quite satisfied. Some restless bit of his spirit hungered, whispers asking always if there wasn't something more. He was a good man, a lawful man, and had lived his years by the teachings of his mentors.

His birth father, the man for whom he was named, had died of fever along with his mother when he was just a small boy. He had few memories of them. There was no other family to raise him, so the surgeon who had been called to treat them took the young orphan home as his own. The surgeon's wife, a gentle and God-fearing lady called Esme, was left barren by the troubled birth and loss of their only child. Her heart was warm and she had welcomed him as a son. Carlisle was a wise man, who made sure Edward never wanted for reading materials and that his mind was honed to use them. At his side Edward had learned many things of faith and the world, and of the infirmities of flesh. He'd considered following Carlisle's footsteps to a profession in medicine before the calling of faith became louder. Short of the parents who had brought him into the world, he couldn't have asked for a better family.  
He visited them still, when the snow wasn't too deep. Father Edward knew the names and stories that lay under each new wooden cross in the church's field, and often walked among them with a prayer on his lips for the peace of the dead and the families left behind. Always, his walks seemed to end at these two blessed markers. He hoped the words he spoke there still traveled to the ears of his beloved adopted parents where they sat at the Creator's feet. He hoped they approved of the man he had become, that they found him worthy of the love they'd given freely. He hoped he deserved to be the life they'd saved.

The heavy carved wooden door opened with a bang, caught by the cold wind and snatched from half frozen hands. A blast of icy air tore through the room, biting through his thick robes. He shivered.

"Father Edward!" a voice called to him, urgently. "Father!" A small group pressed through the door, caked in the wet snow. The Newtons, he quickly recognized. Michael, who lived with his wife Jessica and their four sons at the edge of town. What could bring Michael and his three eldest sons out into weather such as this? Father Edward's pulse quickened.

"Yes, I am here," he answered them, rising to his feet.

"Father, can you come? And quickly?" Michael asked, rushing over his words. "She's injured, the snow , it was too much, the roof caved and Anthony ran for us."

"Jessica?" Edward asked, a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. Jessica had troubled him as a girl, unable to accept his dedicated calling and his lack of interest in her beauty, but that was many years gone. She'd grown past her childish infatuation, married Michael and become an important woman in the community. She was a caretaker of the ill and infirm, and a fine upstanding Christian. Her sons were nearly grown save the last. Young Anthony still clung to his mother's skirts when they came to town for service.

"No, no, Jessica is at home with her. Anthony came for us and we carried her. She's injured, she needs help. Jessica doesn't know what to do for her. We need you, Father Edward."

"Who?" Father Edward asked. "Who is it that's injured?"

"It's Bella, Father. The roof fell in. Bella's roof fell, and her legs. Oh, God's mercy, her legs!"

-Author's Note-

So, what do you think? It's been a long time since I've written anything and I have little confidence. Reviews, anyone? Please?  
I have the story line already laid out for this one and it won't be a very long piece. I'll try to get it finished before the writing bug leaves town again.


	2. Chapter 2

Father Edward rubbed the crusty snow from his face, rendered so cold by the wind that his flesh seemed to burn. He shed his sodden outer robe quickly, unseating a small pile of half frozen slush. His movements were stiff, slowed by the cold and the bone-deep ache it brought, and by the effort of the long walk through unforgiving deep snow. Still, he moved with haste. The sun was close to setting as he latched the church door behind him and set out with the Newton men. They'd barely arrived before losing the last of the feeble daylight.

The Newtons' home flickered with the red and yellow light of the fire in the hearth, built high against the wind prying through every crack in the log walls and reaching icy fingers between the shutters. The heat was a welcome relief for the men, even while adrenaline kept them from truly appreciating the depth of their chill. Michael and his sons dispersed to seek out dry garments, none quite daring to look towards the hearth.

Jessica sat by the fire, attending a small figure laid out on a makeshift pallet. Her troubled eyes followed Father Edward as he moved to join them.

For the many years Edward had traveled with Carlisle, he had been an apprentice of sorts. Carlisle was a skilled surgeon, a kind and gifted healer. Even after choosing a life dedicated to his faith, Edward had been called to help the ill and injured of his little town. When Carlisle had passed on, there was no other doctor or healer to be found. Jessica and a few of the other women did what they could for the ailments of daily life, and Father Edward was called for the most serious. If he could heal them, he did. If not, then at least he was on hand to administer their last rites.

Father Edward's footsteps were dull on the wooden floorboards. As he approached the still figure lying prone on the pallet, he hoped for the first option. He'd seen so many depart this earth, and felt thankful for the gift of settling their peace so they could go with unburdened souls, but he most truly felt the will of God when his hands could alleviate suffering and return his neighbors to their families, whole in body and spirit. He was generally content with his work in this regard, satisfied to administer God's will for healing or offering support to the dying. It wasn't up to him to decide which way the infirm would go. Edward's prayers only asked for guidance, for peace and for all to know an end to suffering through love.

-

A tiny whimper sounded from the blankets, a weak and deeply pained sound. Jessica bent to whisper words of meaningless reassurance, gripping Bella's hand in her own and dabbing the sweat from her furrowed brow with a soft cloth.

The evening had slipped away after they had peeled back the blankets and examined Bella's injuries. No blood had been shed, and yet they all knew the situation was grim. A single broken bone could be splinted and mend with time, if the person was in good health, the break was clean and no other damage done. But no splint could help this damage. A beam of the roof had fallen across her lower half, crushing both legs and distorting her pelvis. The stain of ugly bruises covered the swollen limbs, burning hot in some areas and fading to dusky cold below the knees where blood no longer flowed. On the very slim chance that she survived at all, Bella would forever be an invalid. They'd helped her to sip a weak tea of boiled willow bark for the pain. They could do no more for her.

After a moment the sound stopped, leaving only the storm blowing outside, the crackle of burning logs and Father Edward's murmured prayers. Soft snores sounded from the cabin's only bedroom and the sleeping loft above, where Michael and the boys had retired hours before.  
Time trickled by. Jessica's head sagged, snapping up and then drooping again with the weight of fatigue as she fought sleep. She startled when Father Edward's hand landed gently on her stooped shoulder.  
"Rest," he said softly. "I'll stay with her. "


	3. Chapter 3

The night was more than half gone when Bella stirred again, fluttering open her eyes with a grimace of pain. She looked to the place Jessica had occupied beside her, making a small sound of confusion when she found it empty.  
"Jess…" she mumbled, searching.  
"It's alright," Father Edward assured her, moving closer into her sight and clasping her hand in his much larger ones. "Jessica has gone to rest."

"Edward?"  
"Yes. I'm here. You are not alone." It was odd, to hear his Christian name. Nearly everyone just called him Father, yet he was startled to realize it sounded right, from her. Or nearly right. He quickly smothered the thought.  
"Hurts," she whimpered pitifully.

He lifted the cup to her lips, helping her to sip the last of the cold tea. When she had finished, he moved to the kettle, pouring another cup of hot water over willow bark. It wouldn't do much for a pain so great, but the willow tea could help ease her suffering at least a little.

Father Edward stayed by her side, checking her condition often and murmuring prayers while she slipped between short times of wakefulness and restless sleep. As the cold crept further up her legs and her eyes began to shine with the glassy haze of fever it seemed more certain the church yard would gain another wooden cross this winter.

Edward had always felt a sort of peace alongside the dying, a connection to the will of God. Sometimes he thought he could almost glimpse Heaven as the dying transitioned in the final moments when all pain was gone. Dying is messy, but death is peaceful - easy.

He felt no peace at Bella's side. The Father was troubled with an aching sense of unfinished business. A sliver of deep loss cut within him and he was confused. He'd felt grief, yes, and loss for many of the souls who had crossed into God's kingdom, but he'd also felt joy for the end of their suffering and in knowing all the good they had done in life. Surely, having lived good lives and known the love of their God they passed on to sit at His side. How could he not be happy for them, whole and perfect in Heaven?

Bella had lived a good life, a righteous life.

Edward remembered clearly the girl she had been when Carlisle chose to settle in Forks. Edward had been a boy of seventeen, nearly a man by then and making the choice between a life in medicine and following the church. He was fit and strong from long hours of hard work, with a sharp mind honed at Carlisle's side and Esme's impeccable charm. The girls in town reacted as they had everywhere when his family arrived. There were many accidental meetings, coy glances and constant whispered admiration for his emerald green eyes, the untamable riot of his bronze hair, the appeal of a surgeon's son. They drove him near to madness in their pursuit, but he just wasn't interested. No girl had captured his guarded heart.  
Father Banner was the town's only leadership in faith. He was an aging man, prone to fits of coughing the worsened with each winter. Prior to the Cullens' arrival in town Father Banner had invested his hopes for the future of their church in a boy called Benjamin, a pleasant and studious boy who was strong in his faith and a good leader to his peers. Maturity had stolen that plan away however: young Benjamin had fallen in love with the daughter of a preacher in the neighboring town of Port Angeles and the pair planned to wed after he completed his schooling. He would be a spiritual leader, but not in Forks, and not for this church. Father Banner pinned his hopes instead to Edward, whose mere presence in church assured the families of every eligible female in town filled the pews on Sunday. Vanity and pride had no place in church, but allure did have its appeal. The good Father's persistence paid off in the end, and Edward's decision was made. He would become a man of God, and submitted to train with the Father. He came to know the people of the church well during his training.

Bella was the only daughter of the town's sheriff, Charlie Swan. Sheriff Swan was a man of few words, but a fine and upright man. He'd kept the town in good working order during his time, and his daughter seemed equally just. Though she had never known a mother, Bella took care of her father and their home as a well raised lady might. She was never prone to indulge in gossip as many of the other girls did. She was in church every week, often with this or that bandaged from some unfortunate encounter. Edward appreciated her quiet ways, found amusement in her long standing quarrel with gravity and came to think of her with a peculiar affection. He'd come to believe it was camaraderie, feeling a kinship for the girl whose mother had died shortly after bringing her into the world, and whose father spent so much time working away from home. Though she had kin, she was as much an orphan as he'd ever been. Perhaps more so, since he'd been blessed with Carlisle and Esme. Esme, ever the mother, had taken it upon herself to befriend Bella as a sort of honorary daughter. The two often had tea together, and worked with the other women in town whenever a family was ill or in need.

When the time came that most young ladies found husbands and started families of their own, Bella had seen her share of suitors. She was a true beauty, with doe-like chocolate eyes and smooth chestnut tresses. She had the sort of quiet beauty that girls never seem to know they possess, and even Edward had been aware though he tried not to think on such things. His heart was pledged to his God and his calling; he would never take a wife.  
Bella had sent each suitor away in turn. Michael Newton was the last, at least on his third attempt to win her affection. It was odd, that she'd be spending her final days on this earth beneath his roof when she'd so soundly rejected his proposals. Michael was a kind and forgiving man, and everyone was pleased when he'd finally recovered sense to pursue Jessica instead. The pair was well matched, and luckily he held no awkward grudge to Bella.

There had been gossip in town when she would accept no suitor. It was understood that some girls simply would find no suitable match, being too unpleasant in manner or station to find interest, but for a lovely girl from a sound family to have multiple eligible choices and send all away? It was unheard of. Some said she had a secret love, perhaps a man already unhappily married. Edward did his best to silence these toothed rumors. He saw the truth in her actions. Bella would not conduct herself in such a disgraceful way. She was content to care for her father, and would not settle to marry a man who did not also possess her heart. It was honorable, really, if somewhat ill advised.

The years passed, new children were welcomed, and the little yard of wooden crosses behind the church grew. When Father Banner finally succumbed to the ailment of his lungs, Edward smoothly stepped into his place and led the congregation as he'd been trained.

Not long after, a fire caught at the sheriff's home in town while Bella was out for one of her walks – or rather stumbles – in the woods. Esme had held her, sobbing, while the tinder-dry structure burned to the ground. They placed a cross in the church yard for Sheriff Swan, though he never made it out of the flames and there was nothing to bury. Truly orphaned, without a husband or home, Bella submitted to Esme's mothering as she reeled from the loss. Edward prayed for her strength and safety. Many did, as she sat staring, closed tightly within herself in grief.  
With time, Bella's pain became less. She returned to life, though it would never be quite the same. She enlisted the help of several friends to repair a shack she'd discovered in the woods, a tiny rundown cottage, long abandoned. When it was finished she struck out on her own, a nearly scandalous decision for a young woman, and made a living selling herbs and goods gathered from the woods. She seemed content enough, though Edward worried for her on the weeks she did not make the long walk to church for Sunday service. Truly, it was a miracle of God that she survived each day without some major calamity. Sometimes he would bring the good word to her instead, checking in on her wellbeing to sooth the worry. Carlisle, Esme and several of Bella's friends in town also checked in on her, bringing supplies whenever they thought she may accept them. She kept to herself most of the time, but seemed happy enough with her lot in life and usually glad of the visits when they came. Her home didn't have much, but Bella was a gracious hostess and offered freely of what she had.

As the years crept by Carlisle and Esme grew bent with time. They fell within days of one another, to a fever that swept through town like wildfire. Esme was the first to be stricken, simply never rising one late fall morning. Carlisle's grief was a palpable thing, an ocean so deep each breath seemed a struggle. The second day after burying Esme he called Edward to his bedside, where his blue eyes burned with fever. He babbled with delirium through the deep rattle in his chest, things about life, love, God and women that may have begun as wisdom before the fever twisted them into addled nonsense.  
In his final moments, his eyes had seemed almost clear.  
"Don't lose her, Edward," he'd gasped. "Don't lose her!"

When he reflected on those words, Edward imagined he'd meant Esme, forgetting in his illness that she'd already preceded him to her eternal rest. Or perhaps he'd been remembering any number of patients they'd worked on over the years.

And so Edward had buried his second set of parents, never far apart even in death, and had taken away the joy of knowing their love for one another was so strong. Surely, they were together again in Heaven, watching over him just as his birth parents did. His grief had been deep, but he'd buried it just as deeply and found comfort in tending the needs of the other grieving families, and in helping where he could for the sick who could no longer seek Carlisle's healing hands and wise council. He became a Father to his town and a healer of sorts, honoring the memory of the man who had stepped up to be a father to him.

He'd spent the long years of his life since trying to be the kind of man Carlisle could be proud of, doing his best to guide the people in his care. Their successes were his joys, the inevitable ones who fell to sin his cross to bear. He lived to see the families grow, to welcome each new child to a life of loving God, to share with each of them the good word. Each face was precious to him, as he recognized they were precious to God. Each face had a spark of familiarity, more so as the path of common ground stretched further behind.  
Only one person in this time seemed to be more. Each time Bella came through the heavy carved doors of the church, his heart quickened just that little bit, and for a scant moment he was home.  
She seldom had a coin for the offering plate, and when she did he'd cleverly divert it away before she could tithe her meager income, even at the risk of her ire. She would find other ways to balance her debts to the church, always covertly leaving behind some secretly cleaned corner, whisking away and then quietly replacing freshly mended linens or sneaking a tray of Edward's favorite mushrooms or wild berries into his office.  
It was a steady balance they'd found, and maintained over twenty years.

Yes, Bella Swan had lived a good and righteous life. An unusual one, for certain, but no one could argue she was anything but right with the Lord. Why, then, did the very thought of her going to sit at the Lord's table pain him so?


	4. Chapter 4

As midnight slowly turned into the small hours of morning the storm outside slowed, and the icy wind quieted to occasional rattling gusts. In the moments between Father Edward sat by Bella's side, sometimes praying quietly, sometimes listening to the poignant silence as she drifted somewhere between awake and asleep. Her skin had become pale, waxen, and her breathing was not the deep even breaths of sleep. Each breath was shallow, inaudible when the wind gusted and barely detectable otherwise. Though she still lived, her hand in Edward's grew cool and the pulse he felt in her wrist was a weak, thready sticcato. Further and further away she slipped as he waited, ever watchful for the next breath.

"Edward?" she breathed, so quietly he almost missed it.  
"I'm here, Bella," he answered her. "I'm not going anywhere."  
"Good. That's good." She smiled, the barest upward curve of pale lips, and fell silent again, drifting back into rest that was not sleep.

Her hands had grown so cold now. Father Edward wrapped both of his overly large hands around the tiny one he held, marveling at how it fit just between his own as he tried to bring some measure of warmth. Her fingers flexed weakly.

Softly, breathlessly, she began to hum. He leaned close, curious to decipher the tune, and then his velvety baritone lifted the familiar lyrics, quietly in the sleeping house.  
"…The storm may roar without me, my heart may low be laid,  
But God is round about me, and can I be dismayed?

Wherever He may guide me, no want shall turn me back.  
My Shepherd is beside me, and nothing can I lack.  
His wisdom ever waking, His sight is never dim.  
He knows the way He's taking, and I will walk with Him

Green pastures are before me, which yet I have not seen.  
Bright skies will soon be over me, where darkest clouds have been.  
My hope I cannot measure, my path to life is free.  
My Savior has my treasure, and He will walk with me."

She looked peaceful as the last note faded, almost serene. Her other hand came to wrap around his, as though she was reassuring him even as her life faded. She tugged, weakly but persistently, until she could lay the downy softness of her cheek against his knuckles. Bella's tired eyes opened and met his, hazy but fixed in resolution.  
"Once," she whispered to herself. "Just once," and raised his hand to her lips. There she pressed the barest kiss, light as a landing butterfly, and yet that action seemed to claim the last of her energy. Her eyes fluttered closed and she relaxed back to the state that wasn't quite sleep, releasing her tenuous grip on his hand.

Edward sat, frozen with indecision. The Father was shocked, scrambling for an explanation of the lonely spinster's actions, seeking the affections of the only man available. A supportive presence, a non-threatening source. Edward the Father excused her actions quickly to her delirium, the last acts of a dying woman. Still, Edward the man felt the sliver within his heart open a chasm, through which liquid pain began to trickle. What had he done, to be here on this night? What had he done, to have this pain instead of the peace he usually felt ushering the dying to their final rest? What had he not seen, not done? His head spun with self-recrimination.

And yet, he did not pull away. He was imminently aware of the softness of her cheek against his hand, the slender lengths of her fingers draped across his own, the softest whisper of her breath. Each of these was catalogued, carefully, as something vital.

"Edward," she murmured, "stop worrying so. Pray."

He chuckled, darkly, a humorless sound of exasperation. Even caught between this life and the next she found breath to reassure him, to unhinge his frantic mental pacing. So he prayed, reciting words spoken over the dying by many generations before, and found reassurance in the familiar ritual. When the words ran out it was quiet again. The barest light began to creep through the darkness around the shutters, the black of night was bleeding into the grey of dawn.  
Bella's fingers flexed with his own, feebly. She moved, as if to speak, but no sound came. Edward leaned close, listening.  
"What is it?" he asked, brushing a strand of hair from her face.  
"Edward," she breathed, the barest sound. "I love…." And she spoke no more. The last of her breath faded away, never to be replaced by another.

-Author's Note:-  
The song referenced is a hymn called In Heavenly Love Abiding. Have a listen. It can be truly beautiful. watch?v=IQwexE7YxcI

Right, so, I'm not so good at touchy-feely stuff, and rather insecure in how that all turned out. Anyone? Feedback? Love it, hate it?

Hang in there, there should be one more chapter coming, possibly two. I'm trying to get this one finished up before the drive to write runs out.


	5. Chapter 5

Time no longer seemed to hold much meaning for Father Edward. He still recited sacred words and saw to the needs of his congregation, and yet always found himself looking to the empty pew hidden in the back corner. In the bustle after service, he caught glimpses of chestnut hair, always just around a corner, behind the next group of waiting bodies. He heard her laughter hidden in the breeze, saw the forgiveness and warmth in the deep pools of her eyes behind his own closed lids. He felt the brush of her cheek against his hand in each babe at the baptismal fount.

He'd been the one to read as she was lowered into the earth beside Sheriff Swan, just steps from the wooden crosses where his parents had been laid to rest. He reflected often that it seemed fitting, for her to be with his family. For she was, family. He'd come to realize it in the time since she had gone. Yet was she really gone? He'd felt the life leave her body, had sat with her as the sun rose on a day she'd never see until the Newtons woke. He'd waited as Jessica prepared her as best she could, and walked stoically with Michael and his sons bearing her frail form to church one last time upon a board. He'd seen the shovelfuls of soil pile on the plain pine box, encasing her in the earth's eternal embrace. He had pounded in the newest wooden cross to mark her place. She was gone. And yet, she was everywhere.

When he ate, he thought of plump mushrooms and fresh berries, carried from the woods just for him, and the food turned to ash on his tongue.

When he slept he heard her voice calling, ephemeral. Sometimes he couldn't make out the words at all. On the nights when he could, he dreaded the dawn. "Edward," she'd whisper to him, the barest hint of an angel's whisper in his slumbering ear. "Edward, I love you." And he would realize, too late, just why the chasm in his heart bled as she slipped away.  
"You are my life now," he would tell her memory. "Always."

To the world, Father Edward was nearly the man he always had been, though the fire in his eyes had dimmed and his shoulders slumped with a weary weight. Silver spread through his auburn hair. As time passed his robes hung loosely and his cheeks hollowed. Had it been weeks? Years? He couldn't recall.  
"Eat," the busy bodied women of town admonished him. "You'll waste clean away!" And he would put on a smile, and force down some of their lovingly prepared foods, but never really tasted it. He drifted, waiting. Still, he talked to God. His prayers were fervent, asking for peace, for forgiveness. Asking for the wellbeing of his flock, of his parents. Of Bella.  
When he walked, his path wandered through the crosses in the yard, ending always at Bella's side. He sat with her, alone in his silence, and grieved the gift he hadn't seen. Sometimes he wished he'd never known, that he'd lived the length of his life blissfully ignorant to his failings, his blindness and faulty commitment. He wished often to hear an answer when he sat to speak with Carlisle, to know what wisdom he had to share instead of substituting his own imagined answers. And still he prayed.

Father Edward grew tired, his strength slipping away just as his satisfaction in the emptiness of his life had. He slept strangely, and at odd times. He would wake, quite addled, from unplanned naps among the pews or laying in the grass outside. Sometimes it took him a while to sort out just where he was, and how he had come to be there. He began to assure himself with a list of facts, inalienable truths for his world.

My name is Edward Cullen.

I serve God as Father to my church.

My parents were Edward and Elizabeth Masen, and Carlisle and Esme Cullen. They have all died.

My love's name is Bella Swan, and she's gone.

The people worried for Father Edward, worrying something had gone wrong. He agreed to train a new Father, a young man who felt the fire to preach in his bones. Edward watched impassively as the town got to know him, as he was accepted and grew to earn their respect. And he let himself fade further away.

More and more, he slept. He waited. He dreamed, and felt the creeping peace of certainty. This life cannot be all there is. A loving God would not condemn us for one blind mistake. He hoped.


	6. Chapter 6

The air was soft, warm like the first sunny days of spring. Edward heard her laugh, not so distant as usual, and smiled. He couldn't help but smile when she was happy. He'd always found her laugh infectious, when they were young and through their odd, distant parallel lives. He used to think it was a sign he should have seen, one of many things that drew him in and he had pushed away. With time, he'd moved past blaming himself and through acceptance. He heard her laugh, and felt again the joy of her happiness.

"Edward!" she called, lightly. Very close. He hummed in noncommittal appreciation. She seldom answered him in these dreams. "Edward, open your eyes."

He frowned, pressing them closed. Why should he want to wake, back to the dreary, empty monotony of his life? Why should he want to return to waiting, only to come back right where he was? The grass beneath him was softer than any grass he'd ever felt, far softer than his lonely pious bunk. And she was here, or at least his memory of her voice was. If he opened his eyes he'd surely wake, and find himself alone in his plain room, or worse – having nodded off in a random place, as he did the week prior when he sat to rest under a tree alongside the road. No, he did not want to wake.

"It's alright," she reassured him. "I'm here. You're not alone."  
"You'll go," he muttered, almost petulantly.  
She laughed, a free thing. "I won't go," she told him. "You're here now. Where else am I going to go?"

He considered it. She'd never actually asked him to open his eyes before, had never promised not to leave. Had it really been years since he'd seen her face? Would he remember her accurately, if he opened his eyes now? Always he'd seen glimpses of her, the curve of her cheek, the shining tendrils of her hair, the teasing sparkle of her eyes. It had been so long since he'd seen the entirety of her face. If it didn't work and he woke, all he'd lose is a dream. But if it did…. It'd be worth waking, this once, for the chance to see her again. Even if it was only a dream.

"Open your eyes," she asked again. And he did, blinking up at the cerulean blue expanse of sky.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Bella asked, flopping unceremoniously into the soft grass beside him.  
Edward hesitated, wanting to turn to her, afraid she'd disappear when he moved. Bella as he remembered had been a quiet, patient woman. Bella in this dream, it appeared, was not overly quiet or patient.  
"Over here!" she teased, grasping his hand. Both gasped, feeling a shower of tingling sparks travel from the point of contact.

Edward turned to her, amazed to see her completely whole. Not just whole, but young and more radiant than he'd even remembered.  
"You're young," he blurted.  
"Yes!" she grinned. "So are you!"  
His brow furrowed in confusion.

"No," he explained. "No, Bella, it's been a very long time since I was young."  
"Not here," she told him. "Look." Gently, she guided his hand to his face. He felt for the creases across his forehead, the sagging folds around his faded green eyes, and found nothing but smooth skin instead. He looked to his hands, for the gnarled knuckles of age, the wasted hollows of bony limbs. They were strong, as fit as they'd been in his late boyhood. He laughed, surprised.  
"What is this?"

"Don't you know, Father?" Bella teased.

"I…," he began. "Know?"  
Bella scrambled agilely to her feet, further confusing Edward. Hadn't she always moved slowly, carefully? Agile was not in Bella Swan's list of abilities!

"Come on," she told him, reaching again for his hand. "They've all been waiting, such a long time."  
"Who has?"

"Everyone, of course! I barely convinced your mothers to let me be the one to see you first. They wanted to all come! Can you even imagine? You'd be overrun!"

"Wait, just.. Bella?" Edward called. "They're here, too? My parents?" He swallowed past the lump in his throat.

She stopped to smile up at him, reassuring. "We can go later, if you want. Do you need to sit down again?"

"Maybe, just a moment." Edward sank back to the lush grass, noticing the multitude of wildflowers. Many he'd never seen, lovely iridescent colors. Now he thought of it, their perfume floated everywhere. How had he missed them before?

"You're going to love it here," she told him, softly. "It'll feel like home before you know."

He looked to her, smiling, and squeezed her hand.  
"You're really here," he wondered aloud.  
She nodded. Edward raised her hand to his lips, pressing a sweet kiss to her palm.

"You're here Love, and I'm home."

The end!

Hope you liked the quick read! Remember, fanfic authors are paid and fed with reviews. If you liked the story (or didn't!) please don't forget to feed the author on the way out!


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